colour of my blood
by cheadsearc
Summary: the rest of the world was black and white :: but we're in screaming colour :: annabeth thought she'd never find her soulmate, but the fates have a great sense of humour, don't they? :: soulmates!au :: re-edited version


_**amethyst blue**_

 _represents family, the purest, yet the most tenuous connections a person holds in their lifetime. fragile, yet true._

* * *

When Annabeth was younger, life was perfect.

She lived in the big house on the edge of town with her Mom and Dad, she was doing well in school and she loved architecture. Her mother dropped her to school on the way to work. Dad stayed at home in his huge office filled with strange devices and big books that he read to her at night. Her mother picked her up again, after school was done and they went home to cheesy TV shows and dinner prepared by her Dad. It was normal. It was perfect.

Annabeth loved it.

Until it all came tumbling down like a house of cards.

She was twelve. Middle school was pretty good. She'd designed and constructed a treehouse all by herself in the backyard – well, maybe not _all_ by herself: Dad had helped with the heavy stuff. (Her best friend, Thalia Grace, loved to pretend it was a ship and they were on a treasure hunt, but she thought it was silly and childish.) She was _happy_.

But in the midst of that blissful little world was a tiny, malicious spot of darkness that shot waves of fear through Annabeth's little heart – the shouts which echoed down the hall at night, the slam of the front door accompanied by her dad's heavy footsteps, the screams of frustration her mother let out when she thought that no one was watching...and it was getting worse everyday. She'd brushed it off initially – Dad had once told her that it was natural to have fights with someone you love. But as summer faded into autumn and autumn chilled into the dreary winter, the arguments grew more spiteful and the distance between her parents grew like frost on the windows. It wasn't about who-forgot-what anymore. It wasn't playful, or frivolous or trivial and Annabeth often felt like the fearful spectator of a fierce battle of wills.

But she knew everything would be alright.

After all, they _loved_ each other, didn't they?

But that fateful autumn day showed how wrong she was.

She had first felt the pangs of fear and apprehension when her mother hadn't come to pick her up from school. Mom and Dad had been fighting a lot more, lately. She tried not to be worried. She did. But her Mom had _never_ not come to pick her up. Something was very wrong, like a raging storm in the middle of spring.

She got into the late school bus - filled with boisterous, deafening noise and peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich missiles, after Ms. Forrester informed her that her mother was not coming. The world from the bus window was different from what she saw in her Mom's car, she noticed, it was slower, more languid, more vivid. She sat next to Malcolm, the guy who was her partner in Math. He was cool. He helped her take her mind off her parents for a while. At least, until she hopped off at her stop and swung the front door open, to her home.

The first thing she noticed was the _suitcases_.

It was everywhere, and of every shape and size imaginable. Were they moving? Or was it old stuff?

 _The fear would not let go._

She called out to her parents, but received no response. The pangs became worse, waves that left her trembling in mild terror. Muffled shouts were echoing from above, so she bounded up the stairs, and into Dad's office, from where she'd heard them.

She wished she hadn't.

Dad was behind his table, definitely angry, gesturing at something with his hands. Mom was in a chair in front of him, calm and cool, devoid of emotion. Dad stopped talking – Annabeth couldn't make out what he said, but she heard her mother's next words as clear as day. "I'll be leaving for the next flight to Boston. Don't contact me. Don't ever try to meet me. This is the end, Frederick. I cannot continue to live like this. I want to be free. I _need_ to be free."

Each word was like a stab wound in Annabeth's small heart. _Mom is leaving? What about me? Never talk to her again? Boston? What is going on?_ A million thoughts speeded like bullets through her head. But she couldn't move.

 _What about me?_ whispered a small voice at the back of her head.

They did not notice her. Her Dad's expression was twisted with anger and grief, but her mom remained impassive. Cold. "What about Annabeth?" her father asked, voicing her own thoughts.

And Annabeth's mother uttered the words which shattered her heart. "What about her? She has never been nothing but a hindrance to my career. She was never meant to be. I willingly give you her full custody. Now, if there is nothing else to talk about, I have a fl-"

"A _hindrance?_ Never meant to be? What are you talking about, Athena? Don't you love her?" If it was possible, her father looked even more heartbroken. Athena paused, looking conflicted. Annabeth looked up, blinking away the blurriness in her eyes. Maybe Mom didn't mean it.

"No."

And just with that one syllable, Annabeth's perfectly constructed world collapsed. Crashed and burned like it was not meant to survive.

"Mom?"

Her parents turned to the doorway, to where she stood. She could feel the pressure building behind her eyes, choking her. Suffocating her. Her father looked devastated and sad. Her mother looked like a statue.

 _Yes. That was what she was. A statue. Nowhere near a human being._

"Did you really mean that?" Stupid, _stupid_ heart. It would never let go. Her mother only stared at her with those cold grey eyes, boring into her like ice-cold stone. Was that how _she_ looked when she stared at someone? Annabeth hoped not.

"Momma?" She did not answer. "Mom, _please_."

After five minutes of heavy, laden, pained silence, Annabeth's sorrow turned into something she'd never experienced before. It felt as though her insides were burning up, being eaten away by the fire which burned bright. "I _hate_ you. I _hate_ you. I wish I never see you again. You are not my Mom anymore. _GO. AWAY._ " She was yelling, her throat scratchy and tears stinging her eyes. She kept repeating the words, _Go away. Go away. Go away. Go…_

Annabeth's father ran to her and hugged her, cradling her shaking body and whispering sweet nothings in her ear. The only thing she could make out was, "I'm here, Annabee, I'm here."

And that was enough. Her Dad was there. Annabeth would survive. She buried her face in his shoulder and cried and cried and cried for God knows how long. She could hear her Mom's sharp heels tapping the floor till the front door. And soon after, she heard the familiar purr of the car.

Annabeth wanted to break away from her dad's arms, run to the driveway and stop her mother from leaving.

But her legs felt like jelly and her heart like lead, weighing down on her, preventing her from moving an inch.

She wanted to tell Mom that she didn't mean it. She didn't hate her. She didn't want her to go away. And would she please _just come back?_

But she just _couldn't._

So, she cried.

"Annabee, my baby girl," her father whispered. "Annabeth, stop crying, my darling. It'll be alright. Shhh. It'll be alright, now." She lifted her head and looked into her Dad's sad eyes. And frowned.

"Daddy…"

"Shh, it's okay-"

" _Dad!"_

"What's wrong, baby girl?" He asked, leaning down to kiss her cheek. The weird red glow followed him.

"Daddy, you're _glowing._ " He looked confused for a second before his expression was replaced by a sad humour.

 _"_ _Ah_. You found your gift, Annabeth. Your Mom and…" he stopped abruptly, eyes flashing with anger, "Well, _I_ thought that you didn't have one, it didn't show for so long." Seeing that it didn't help Annabeth's confusion in the least, Frederick sat her on her lap. "Annabeth do you remember the stories of true love and friendship I used to tell you?"

Annabeth nodded. "From _those_ books?" She asked, pointing to the shelf which had always belonged to her night time stories. Her father chuckled and said, "Yes. Do you remember the poem which was mentioned in one of them?"

Annabeth frowned. "It wasn't a poem."

"Why not?"

"Because it didn't _rhyme_."

Her Dad chuckled a bit more heartily. "Alright, Annabee, it didn't rhyme. _I_ made it up."

"I knew that too. You never looked at the book when you told it to me."

"You are a sneaky little thing, aren't you?" His sorrow and pain seemed almost non-existent as he looked at his daughter, amused by her words. But even Annabeth's young, twelve-year-old mind could know that the pain he must have been going through was immense. "Well, anyway, remember the _colours?_ "

"Yes, Dad. But why-?" Annabeth asked impatiently. How did this relate to the _glow_ surrounding her dad – which was fading, even as she spoke?

"Don't be so impatient, Bee. You say that you remember, yes?" Annabeth nodded. "Tell me the poem."

"But-"

" _Annabeth."_

"Fine," she huffed, searching her memory for the words she had heard a long time ago, cocooned under a warm comforter and wrapped into her father's big arms. " _Red for the one you truly love, orange for the one you don't; Yellow for a friend who's always there, green for the one who's not; Blue for the family closest to your heart, indigo and violet too; White for the ones you really don't know, grey for the ones you don't want to,"_ she recited, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

"Hmm, I'd forgotten it myself. I would make a good songwriter, I think," he mused, rocking a little.

" _Please,_ dad. It's _lame."_

"It's not."

"It _is_."

"No."

"Yes."

Annabeth giggled a bit, the pain and confusion over her mother's untimely departure vanishing. Her dad _always_ knew how to cheer her up. "But _why_ are you telling me this now?"

Her dad's grin melted and a serious expression crossed his face. "Do you remember how true friends always were surrounded by yellow and soulmates by red?" Annabeth nodded.

"It's not a fairy tale, Annabeth. Those are real." Her dad's blue eyes looked into her confused grey ones.

Annabeth giggled and barely resisted another roll of her eyes, saying matter-of-factly, "Dad, you are joking right? Fairy tales are _illogical,_ they do not exist."

Her father shook his head. "Who said anything about logic? Fate and love and friendship are anything but logical, Annabeth. It is nature's way of telling us that we cannot exist without human contact. Every person, even _you_ ," Dad tapped her nose. "is connected to several people you probably can't live without. Call it magic, mystery, anything you'd like, but it is very _real_."

"Real?" she whispered. "Yes, real. The thing you see around me? It's called an aura – it shows what you think of the other person."

"Who's this other person?" she asked, hungry for more information. Her brain was whirring, thinking of all the possibilities there could be regarding this 'aura'.

"The person you share a connection with."

"What is a _connection_?"

"Exactly what it means. It's how you show that you are related the 'other person' in some way."

"What?" Annabeth cocked her head to one side. It was fascinating, more so, because her father explained like it was something special, something to be treasured. Annabeth felt like she couldn't get enough of it.

"A 'connection' is like a string – it leads to the person you have any kind of relationship with. Like you and me." Annabeth's eyes opened wide with wonder. "You and I," her dad said, poking her belly, "have a blue connection. It's a pretty blue. Do you see it?" Annabeth shook her head. Beside the almost-faded red, she could not see anything else.

"Hmm, I wonder what kind of gift you have then."

"What is a _gift_?"

"Most people cannot see auras and connections. But there are some special people. Like you and I. We can see them – maybe all of them, maybe specific coloured ones but we can _see_ more. It's a beautiful thing to watch. It makes you believe that humanity is real," her Dad said. He had a faraway look in his eyes, like he was remembering a past which was nothing but distant memories and longing now.

"What is your gift, Dad?"

"Hmm? Oh, I can see all similar connections lying in the violet-blue spectrum."

"What does that mean?"

"I can see all connections between family – like between a brother and sister, or mother and daughter…" he trailed off uncomfortably. A heavy silence fell on the darkened room. The red around her father had disappeared. She couldn't see his brilliantly coloured eyes anymore.

She asked the question hanging down on her, after a while. "Does Mom have a blue connection to me?" Her voice sounded smaller than it had ever been.

Her father sighed heavily. "Yes, my darling, she did. But… but it changed the moment she said that she…"

"I get it. The moment she said that she didn't love me." Her tone was harsh, so unlike her. The single, hateful syllable which her mom had last said in front of her, echoed in her head...

 _No._

The silence stretched a little while longer.

"The red isn't there anymore, Dad."

"Is it? I wonder…" he trailed off, silent again for a few minutes. And those few moments were enough for her to realize the gravity of the situation.

 _She's not here, she's gone. She's gone. Never coming back. She's gone and she doesn't love me. Forever._

"She's never coming back, is she?" Annabeth asked in a tight voice, choking back the tears threatening to fall on her cheeks. "She's _gone_. Forever."

Her dad seemed so, _so_ sad – for her and for himself. His arms encased her in a warm cocoon, as if it would protect her from all the pain and grief and longing which was invading her heart. "Oh, Annabeth. Come on, now. Let's get some sleep," Frederick said, picking her small body, curled up in a foetal position. Her hands immediately wound around his neck in a white-knuckled grip. She felt the gentle rocking of his movements as he carried her to her room. When he kissed her forehead and made to leave, she gripped his elbow.

"No, please, Daddy, I d-don't w-want t-to be a-a-alone. _P-p-please."_ She clung on as tight as she good, hot tears warming her cool cheeks. She murmured incoherently, trying to get the scenes of her dad's office out of her head. It seemed as though someone had pressed the replay button a hundred times and had tied her down to watch it, forcibly, to torture her, to break her already broken heart.

She was afraid. She was so, _so_ afraid.

"Alright, baby girl. I won't leave you. Never in my life. I swear to you," her father told her, kissing her forehead softly. All she remembered was the faint rustling as her Daddy settled on the floor beside her and the fainter rush of the breeze through the leaves on the oak tree outside her window.

* * *

Over the next few days, Annabeth learned a lot about her gift – and herself.

When she went to school the next day, to Thalia's concerned questions about her red eyes and depressed frown, she almost reeled back in surprise at the burst of new colours around her. Her friends and classmates were suddenly surrounded by every colour described in a rainbow – and more. Many didn't have the 'auras'. Some auras were just _white_. Others were as grey as a cloud on a stormy day.

Annabeth was overwhelmed and fascinated. She looked at Jack Connor, the chief troublemaker in her class, and he had a sunny yellow around him. She followed the bright yellow down to his right hand, and from there, it just… _continued._ It was like a thick rope made of sunshine, if such a thing could exist. Annabeth's eyes followed its trail and she frowned. It seemed as though it was leading straight to… Kim Geller, but there was something weird about it… It seemed as though the yellow from Jack gradually turned darker and darker until it became a sunset orange in the middle, Kim herself was surrounded by a brilliant, flaming orange.

What did _that_ mean?

Kim laughed at something Jack said and walked away, waving her goodbye. The yellow-orange colours disappeared with her.

 _Curiouser and curiouser,_ she'd once read in _Alice in Wonderland_. That was exactly how she felt right now, like the earth had shifted and put her in a world she didn't know.

She turned on her heel slowly, taking in the connections that she could see. All of them were like the one she saw – different colours, the connections slowly changing colours as it reached the other person. _Red to orange to yellow, gray to white, yellow to green…_ There were just _so_ many. Annabeth felt that if she'd been a painter, she would have definitely wanted to paint this.

 _Maybe… maybe this is my_ gift, Annabeth mused. _I can see connections of different colours. Yes, that must be it._ She wanted to run home and ask her Dad about it, but not right now.

"Annie!" Thalia snapped her fingers in front of her face. Annabeth turned to her best friend and scowled.

Thalia smirked. "I _knew_ that the nickname would work." Annabeth huffed and hitched her bag a little higher up her back, contemplating whether going to class early was worth it. There was still ten minutes before school actually started, but she thought it was _much_ better than suffering Thalia's interrogation, which by the look on her face, was very near.

"Are you okay?" _Here it comes._

"Mm-hmm," Annabeth hummed, not really in the mood to talk about the events of the previous day. It was much too fresh and painful. Annabeth didn't think that she had really understood it herself. "Your dad told my mom… what happened," she began, blue eyes hesitant. _Oh, great, I don't have to tell her anyway._

"Yeah. Shit happens. Life goes on. The end," Annabeth replied, mildly snappy. She did _not_ want the pity party.

"You don't have to be a bitch, Annabeth. Remember what my Dad did?" Thalia asked, looking hurt and angry. Annabeth lowered her defense, giving Thalia an apologetic one-armed hug. Thalia didn't deserve her unfair anger – she _definitely_ had it better than the Grace siblings.

Thalia Grace was the daughter of the local millionaire. She had everything – a mansion, a sweet younger brother, a great mom, a dad who was absent most of the time – but _seemed_ kind and benevolent. At least until Thalia caught her Dad on a 'date' with some bimbo.

Apparently, they'd been having an affair for six years, right under their noses and even though Thalia's mom had her suspicions, she kept mum about it and deluded herself into thinking that her husband was perfectly innocent. Thalia's discovery had been the wake-up call and she was currently in the middle of a long, ugly divorce. Thalia's father wanted custody of Jason, her nine-year-old younger brother, but Ms. Grace refused to give that at any cost. Thalia had told Annabeth a week before, with sad eyes, that Zeus, her dad, would probably win the case and take Jason away from her, forever.

"I'm sorry, Thals, but… I can't talk about it. Not right now." Annabeth mustered a small twitch of the lips as an excuse for a smile but Thalia didn't seem to mind.

"I know. That's why I won't ask about it," she promised, holding out a bag of saltwater taffy – her favourite. Annabeth squealed in a very un-Annabeth-like way and hugged her best friend. Thalia always knew what to do.

* * *

When Annabeth told her Dad about what she 'saw', several days after she actually discovered it, he seemed surprised.

"Differentiated connections?" he said, over steaming plates of mac-n-cheese. "That's very rare, you know. Almost everyone is blind to them because it almost covers the whole spectrum – and it's very hard for the human eye to comprehend the whole spectrum. To think that you can see it with so much ease… you really are a special one, aren't you?" he teased, ruffling her tangled curls. Annabeth swatted his hand away impatiently, a smile on her face.

They finished the rest of their meal – courtesy of Google because Annabeth's Dad was a _very_ bad cook (so bad that she wouldn't let him take _one step_ into the kitchen) and she didn't know a thing about making pasta - in silence. Annabeth switched on their favourite show, _Friends,_ while her father did the dishes and was smiling at a sarcastic response by Chandler when her dad plopped down beside her.

"Here," he said, handing over a small, but thick book to her. It looked old and worn, but in the sense that someone had read it many times over. It was wrapped in a deep-blue hardcover and had gold embossed writing. _The Spectrum of Humanity._ There was no author's name beneath it, but it was pretty.

"What is this?" She questioned, examining it thoroughly. The pages were yellowed with time, but it seemed intact.

"This," her dad said, "is the Holy Grail for human auras and connections. No one knows who wrote it, or when it was written, but here it is… and we have been following its advice for a long, long time. So keep it safe, Annabeth," he instructed her, patting her honey-blonde hair, so much like his own.

But Annabeth wasn't paying much attention, responding with a slight nod of her head. She began to turn the pages, the rustling of sheets the only sound over the voices emitted by the TV.

"This was Mom's," she began abruptly, more a statement than a question. She could see it everywhere – the impeccably maintained bookmark, the neat cursive and the way she'd highlighted small portions of the book with little notes and demarcations. "Wasn't it?"

The elephant in the room had finally been addressed. It was funny, really – how every single trace of her mom, from her pictures to her perfume – had been removed in less than two weeks. It was almost as if she'd never lived there. But Annabeth knew that she could not ignore it for too long – however fresh and raw the pain of loss was, she suspected that it would only get worse by waiting. And she thought that her Dad knew it too. _Well, at least we've got to the point._

"Yes," her dad sighed. "It was. At least, my mom gave it to her because she wanted to know how the colours looked like. It was a wedding gift." Dad had that look again – like he was searching for a past which was just out of his reach.

"Why? Couldn't she see it herself?"

"Your mom could only see grey connections, Annabeth."

"What does grey represent?"

He hesitated a little, as if contemplating how to frame his answer so that he didn't upset Annabeth. "You'll find it all, right here." He tapped her mom's cursive. Annabeth gave him a weak smile, knowing not to push him about something that he did not want to speak about.

 _From Ella Chase. Thank you for showing me the world I never knew. AC._

"It's a fascinating thing, Annabeth, but you must remember one thing. You must make your own choices – not let the colours make them for you."

"Dad, don't give me such cryptic advice. You know I don't like it."

"You don't _have_ to like advice, Annabeth. But I'd rather you take this particular one. You might not understand it just yet, but when the time comes, you will understand how right it was." There it was again. _The look._

"Alright, Dad. I'll remember that," she assured him.

 _(She'd probably forget in a few minutes.)_

"That's my girl," Frederick smiled at her as she slid off the couch. A hug and a _g'night_ later, she was ready to go to bed and devour the book. She was just about to bound up the stairs, taking them two at a time, when his voice stopped her.

"Annabeth, wait a second." She paused, her hand on the banister of the staircase. "I think its best I tell this to you right now. At least you'll have time to think over it." He spoke in a mumble, like her was speaking to himself more than her.

"Mm-hmm?" Annabeth hummed impatiently. She _really_ wanted to get started with the book. The last twelve days or so had been infuriating and exciting all at the same time – infuriating because she just _didn't know_ what those iridescent, wispy threads meant, exciting because this was a whole new world she was seeing – a world filled with shades and tones and hues of all kinds. Annabeth thought that maybe, if she knew a bit more about what she was seeing, then it would be all the more beautiful.

"You know that this house belongs to Ath- your mom, right?"

"Yes," Annabeth answered slowly, playing with the hem of her _You are Owlsome!_ tee, a heavy sense of dread settling in her stomach. "And?"

"She's asking for the house," Frederick sighed, running a hand through his already messy, ill-maintained hair. "I can't really deny her the rights of ownership, because technically, it's… hers."

"What… what are you trying to tell me, Dad? That we have to move? That's okay. I'm sure we'll find a temporary apartment around town. I don't mind," Annabeth lied, her heart heaving. She loved this house. The glow-in-the-dark galaxy which was stuck haphazardly all around her room, the silvery hue of the paint, and the way the sunlight fell in long beams on the wooden floor in the evening. But she would gladly sacrifice all of that if it meant that she didn't have to see her mother again.

She didn't know where the sudden, deep-rooted hatred came from. Maybe she had been harbouring it ever since her mom left Frederick's office. Or maybe it was because of the desperation and pain she'd caused. Annabeth did not know. All she knew was the fact that she was ready to pay a million dollars, just so that she never saw those cold grey orbs of her mother's eyes again.

"No, Annabeth. We aren't just moving out of this house. We're moving out of Marion. To New York."

New York.

 _What?_

New York? _New York, which is on the other side of the country?!_ The alarms rang hard and fast in Annabeth's mind, trying to keep up with the sudden shift in gear.

So much had changed. In such a short span of time too. It felt as though someone was out to destroy her entire reality: the source of her comfort and happiness, completely and thoroughly. First, her mother was _lying_ about Annabeth and her Dad. She loved her career more than anything else, Annabeth knew that now. She was selfish, mean and cruel. What other thing could be worse than that?

 _This._

The fact that she had to give up her entire reality, her friends, her school, her home, _everything_ just because of the actions of one woman – who had once claimed to love her.

"B-but why?" Annabeth's hands were shaking badly, her arms pale and goose-bumps rising on her skin. The book almost fell out of her loosened grip. She was afraid. She was so _damn_ afraid.

"Annabeth, it is our only option. My job here isn't enough to support the both of us, and I knew we were going to lose the house eventually. So I started searching for jobs, right after your mother upped and left. I found an opening for a professor – in Columbia, no less – and I felt that the opportunity was too good to miss. My application was accepted and they want me to start in January. When Athena emailed me regarding 'her dues' as she called it, I knew that it was my best choice." Annabeth stood frozen, the blue book still clutched tightly in her left hand.

 _New York._

"But why can't we _stay_?" It was a strained whisper, her last shred of hope. Her mind was whirring, considering all the possibilities of the future. _What if we_ did _move to New York? Would it be that bad? Would it be like Marion? Would I feel lonely and homesick there?_ Annabeth knew that she was overthinking it – she always did. But a major part of her wanted to dig her heels into the soft carpet and throw a fit about how she was going to stay right here.

But one look at her Dad's quasi-hopeful expression squashed that line of thought. He wanted this. He really, _really_ did.

"Because we both deserve a fresh start." And when her grey eyes met his much older, much sadder blue ones, she knew that she was going to agree anyway.

* * *

Annabeth fiddled with her Yankees cap, pulling at the threads, tearing off the Velcro, just to put it back again. She remembered the summer when her mom gave her this: Annabeth was barely six, bouncing in her seat as the match between her mom's favourite team - the Yankees and another team whose name she couldn't quite remember, started. They had driven from Marion to San Francisco – a mere two hours on the road, but exhausting all the same – just for the match, because it was her Mom's birthday and she got to choose what her gift would be. The usual pre-match excitement was abuzz, the air crackling with pent-up energy. Annabeth was hyper, her ADHD at its best. She couldn't calm down, no matter what her parents did, or how they scolded her. Finally, Athena sighed, picked her right out of the seat and went for a 'walk' near the stalls. Annabeth bought a hotdog, a stuffed owl and the cap – which she had been wearing ever since.

Annabeth couldn't imagine that the same affectionate woman had become the cold, emotionless statue she had seen in the office.

The tear which trailed down her cheek went unnoticed until it reached her chin, the salty taste biting her tongue. She hadn't cried since that dark, desolate night when she'd begged her father to stay and keep her safe. Because if the dam broke, it would be broken forever, irreparable, forever damaged.

Annabeth wiped it away, fiercely, sniffing a bit. She threw one long, last, look at the cap before she stowed it away, unceremoniously, into the last box remaining in the room. _Memories._

She hitched the road-trip-supply-rucksack on to her shoulder and took a deep breath, breathing the oaky scent for the last time, seeing the faint glow of the stars for the last time, feeling the soft silky paint against her skin for the last time. Just… _everything,_ for the last time.

 _Thank you. Good bye._

And then, she ran as fast as she could, into the bare hallway, down the familiar staircases and past the living room, her footsteps echoing in the empty space.

She knew that if she stayed just a moment longer, she might not be able to leave.

Thalia was waiting for her, the last bag of saltwater taffy clutched between slender, shaking fingers. The mascara she stole regularly from her mother was running down her face as she cried.

"Thalia…" Annabeth did not know what to say. They had been friends for so long that she could barely remember just _when_ it started. They had made a promise – _Even on the other side._ Fancy thoughts inspired by a fancy rendition of the classical tale of _Orpheus,_ but it meant a lot to them.

And here she was, breaking the promise.

"I'm sorry, Thals. So, _so, so_ sorry," Annabeth held her best friend in a white-knuckled, death grip, the tears constrained behind her eyes for so long, finally free to flow. Thalia Grace never cried. And when she did, Annabeth did too.

"It's alright. I understand. You need the change. You need New York. Go get 'em, nerd," Thalia, never a person to put her feelings down into many words, said with a watery smile. And that was enough for Annabeth. Knowing that someday soon, Thalia would be alright, despite the abrupt abandonment on Annabeth's part gave her leave to move one.

The saltwater taffy was placed securely in the already stuffed rucksack and hugs were given and promises were taken. Annabeth smiled at Thalia, trying to look past her blurring tears and Thalia offered her the last grin.

She was just about to get into the car when she acted on an impulse. Intercepting the man carrying her _Memories_ carton, she pulled out the old worn-out blue cap.

"Hold on to it, for me, will you? As long as you're here, I'll know it's safe with you," Annabeth said. Thalia's electric blue eyes widened, understanding her meaning. An imperceptible nod of the head and Annabeth was satisfied. "Take care, Pinecone Face," Annabeth giggled, remembering the nickname Thalia had earned by falling off a pine tree, right into a pile of cones.

"You too, Grey," Thalia smirked and it was done.

It was time to let go of the past.

When Annabeth slammed the door shut and waved her good-bye to Thalia, her fingers glowed as green as a leaf in spring. Thalia's smile brightened, the golden-yellow around her evident to Annabeth's eyes. _Did she know?_ Annabeth wondered, as she saw her green gently giving way to Thalia's yellow as it approached her.

 _Green,_ the _Spectrum_ said, _the colour of harmony and peace; symbolises moving on from the past or beginning a new future._

Annabeth leaned out of the window, watching the connection fade away into the distance, taking her past, her memories, her life with it.

It was time for a new beginning.

* * *

 _If there's one thing I like here,_ Annabeth decided, _it's definitely the view._

She was staring at the vast skyline of Manhattan from their new apartment's balcony. It was beautiful – even in the glare of the surprisingly hot afternoon sun. Annabeth could only imagine how beautiful it could possibly be at night. The Empire State Building was visible in the midst of hundreds of other skyscrapers – its needle-like spire rising far above them. It was as though the needle was reaching up to pierce the heavens and see the gods hold court. The balcony itself was lovely – potted plants sitting upon the marbled floor and creepers twining around the black iron bars.

They'd never had a garden or even flowers, of any kind – her mother was severely allergic to the pollen. Their home had been all white walls and harsh lines – no greenery, save the oak beside Annabeth's room and the patch of perfectly manicured grass in the front yard. It was nice to see the bright orange-and-yellow marigolds sway in the sun, or the delicate buds of the petunia just beginning to bloom.

Annabeth sighed. She felt as though she had been cast into the stormy sea – three weeks before, when her Mom had walked out on them, barely clutching on to her boat, almost drowning in the enormity of her betrayal.

Now, though, it felt as if she was finally getting her bearings.

She thought back to the long, gruelling, but somehow _happy_ road-trip from Marion to New York, the way her load seemed to get lighter and lighter as her old town disappeared into the distance, the way her Dad told her the history of each of the eight states they passed through on their way, the way she blasted Taylor Swift's _Welcome To New York_ from her iPod – in a totally cheesy move, when they entered the outskirts of the city. It was ridiculous.

But it didn't matter – the smile on their faces, and their mending hearts were evidence enough.

And now, she was finally here, in the heart of Upper East Manhattan, checking out their new, spacious, gorgeously designed apartment and admiring the view from it offered.

"Do you like it?" Frederick asked her, carrying a carton box to his bedroom. He was grinning, blue eyes shining. He looked much younger like this.

"Are you kidding? This is _awesome._ The architecture, the view, just _everything._ " She grinned back. Eying the load in his arms, she asked, "D'you need some help with the unloading?"

"No, of course not, what are those mover guys for? But you can go down to explore if you like. I'll order some pizza or something by the time your back." Annabeth grinned, hugged her dad (well, at least _tried_ to, around the huge box that he carried.) and raced out of the front door… right into a mess of black hair and brilliant green eyes.

" _Oof,"_ he groaned, catching himself her elbows just before she fell on the worn carpet of the hall way. He seemed to be of her age, lean (almost _too_ lean, Annabeth thought), tanned from the summer sun and… _pretty._ His high, aristocratic cheekbones, straight nose and beautiful sea-green eyes blinking blearily at her could not be called _handsome_. It could only be described as _pretty_.

But the moment he opened his mouth, Annabeth's mini-crush on him disappeared.

"Watch where you're going, Blondie," he growled at her, preening at his worn shorts and light t-shirt. A scowl was etched into his face, dark eyebrows furrowing and mouth turned downward. Annabeth returned the favour.

"Well I was going to apologize, but seeing that you are _oh-so-understanding-and-kind_ I won't do it… _Seaweed Brain."_ Annabeth said venomously, deeply offended by how he addressed her. _Blondie, huh? Well let's see how he likes being compared to a slimy aquatic plant._ She huffed, sending her best glare to the gorgeous but rude boy.

And then, he opened his mouth and… _chuckled._ Big, deep chuckles - like he was _amused._ Annabeth gaped at him in shock and surprise. What was it that he found this situation so _amusing?_ His sea-green eyes had crinkled at the corners, his long, black lashes casting shadows on his cheekbones.

 _Pity that he is an annoying, bipolar idiot._

"What's so funny?" Annabeth snapped, following the Annoying Mystery Boy's movements as he hoisted himself off the ground and stood in front of her. He wasn't much taller than Annabeth – in fact, she'd bet that she was marginally taller than him. His hair was a mess – not the usual rolled-around-in-bed mess, but a _Mess,_ with a capital M. Tufts of raven hair were sticking straight up, pointing to the ceiling, like he'd been electrocuted.

Annabeth realized that she'd been staring when Annoying Mystery Boy waved a hand in front of her face frantically. "Is it normal for you to always stick your head in the clouds? Like, all the time? Jeez, you should really get yourself checked." His lazy smirk and relaxed posture infuriated her all the more.

"Is it normal for you to always be such a _dick_?" she asked him, not even the least bit bothered that she'd uttered a _forbidden word_. Who cared?

Her mother wasn't here anyway.

"Whoa, did Ms. Perfect Little Blondie just swear?" He widened his gorgeous eyes (whose gorgeousness was something that Annabeth just _couldn't_ seem to get over) in mock surprise and tapped her nose condescendingly. "Not so perfect, are you, now?" he whispered, his face impossibly near to hers – yet maddeningly out of reach. Annabeth froze, _completely_ unsure of what to do. She was never good with physical contact unless it was her own family – or Thalia.

Annoying Mystery Boy caught on with her apprehension and anxiety effortlessly. Smirking, he pulled away, stuffing his hands away in his shorts and sauntering down the hallway, towards the apartment on the far end of the hall. She hoped he didn't live there. Annabeth couldn't deal with him in a _two-minute conversation,_ how could she bear him for _twenty four hours_ every day?

"Oh," Annoying Mystery Boy added, stopping in his tracks and turning to face Annabeth whose initial shock was slowly turning to anger. "To answer your questions – one, _Seaweed Brain? Really?_ Couldn't you think of anything better than algae to describe this awesomeness called me?" He chuckled disbelievingly as though _no one_ could ever name him after algae. _Arrogant much?_ "And two," he smirked. "Yes, yes I am."

And he wiggled his fingers as a farewell and disappeared out of Annabeth's line of sight.

She couldn't help the little twitch of her lips as soon as he was gone.

* * *

Unfortunately for Annabeth, Percy Jackson (because that was his name, and not Annoying Mystery Boy) lived right across the hall from their apartment.

She didn't discover that till about a month later, when his mother, Sally invited them over for a dinner. But she _still_ kept running into Seaweed Brain (she couldn't help it. Ever since he'd called it _ridiculous,_ Annabeth had been thinking of him with his _nickname which could apparently not describe his awesomeness_. Not that Annabeth had been thinking of him too much. Not at _all…._ Just _shut up.)_ before the dinner - in the basement, or the park playing with his 'kid sister', Lily, a sweet little girl who lived in the first floor, or even on her way to school – he was in the same year, she discovered. She'd snarled a customary, _Seaweed Brain_ every time she saw him and was given a smirk and a nod of the head in return.

And here he was, standing with one hand on the door he'd opened for her and her dad, with the same smug smirk and same messy black hair (though it looked like he had _actually made an effort_ to comb it today) and greeting her with a not-so-customary, "Wise Girl," after her dad had been ushered into the living room by Sally.

Annabeth's mouth (which had been hanging open with horror and shock) snapped shut to form a scowl and said, "What the hell?" If she was still in California, Annabeth would've been horrified that she had dared to curse out loud. Here, she didn't even feel an ounce of guilt. Her Mom was not here to be the hypocrite – telling Annabeth not to cuss like a sailor when she did it herself.

"Oh, don't you like it?" Percy assumed an expression of mock-hurt. He _mocked_ a lot of expressions, Annabeth noticed.

"No, I don't," she told him, flatly, stepping past him to go to the kitchen, where Sally and her Dad were talking animatedly.

 _Great. To think that our parents are getting along better than us._

"Why not? I mean, it's an apt title. Since you are so _wise_ and stuff and love to give _wisely thought-out_ nicknames, I thought you'd like one yourself." He beamed at her condescendingly, like he'd done her a great favour by giving her a damn nickname.

"Thanks. Now get off."

"Ouch. Is that how you treat your neighbours? That's not _nice,_ Wise Girl," he advised, walking beside her with his sauntering gait – which reminded her of an idling cat.

If cats had brilliant green eyes and poofy black fur which stuck out in all directions.

Annabeth didn't answer – she didn't think that she had the energy to fight with another round of his sarcasm (which, she had to admit, he was pretty good at).

A delicious smell wafted towards her from the kitchen on her right. It smelled like everything good – chocolate, butter, rising dough, yeast… mmm…

"D'you like it?" Percy grinned genuinely at her, noticing the way she was sniffing the aroma out of the air. "Mm-hmm," she answered, still entranced by the heavenly smell emanating from Sally's kitchen. _If the ambrosia of the gods ever existed,_ Annabeth decided, _it should smell like this._

Annabeth didn't notice that her Dad and Sally had made their way over to where she stood, when Frederick exclaimed, "I haven't smelled something that good since I lived with my parents!"

Annabeth glared at her Dad. "D'you mean to say that I'm not a good cook?" Dad winked at her sheepishly and said, "C'mon now, Annabeth, you can't be good at _everything_."

Sally and Percy laughed along with her Dad, their laughs echoing from the kitchen. She let a small smile grace her lips.

And sitting around the Jacksons' dinner table, talking and chuckling over Sally's delicious blue choco-chip cookies, Annabeth thought that New York wasn't so bad, after all.

* * *

"Unbelievable," Annabeth whisper-yelled to the boy beside her. "How did I get into this situation again?" She could not make out much of Percy Jackson in the darkness, except his wild hair and luminescent eyes, but she was almost sure that he had a smirk on his face.

As usual.

Annabeth Chase was everything good. She was always early to class. She turned in her assignments on time. She got straight As in all her subjects.

She certainly did _not_ arrive late at her own middle school graduation.

Especially when she was valedictorian.

"Relax, Wise Girl," he shushed her, his hand still firm on her wrist. She wished that she could see their connection. At least then, she'd have a semblance of light from the thing and would be able to figure out how to get out of this ridiculous situation.

Her connection with Seaweed Brain had been something of a mystery, until, suddenly, she could see a twirling spindly thread of yellow emerging out of Percy, and melding into yellow, and finally, to green, when it reached her. Percy considered her a _friend,_ Annabeth discovered, because yellow meant deep friendship. Annabeth did not know whether to feel touched or be cautious, but seeing that _her_ aura was still green - a new beginning, not sure _what_ to make of him, she figured 'cautious' was a better place to be.

And then, it altogether _disappeared_ from existence. _Poof._

At first she'd been relieved. Perhaps they weren't destined to be in each other's lives after all.

That is, until the _Spectrum_ had informed her that any connection could never disappear. They couldn't be destroyed, nor be created out of human will, but only transformed from one form to another – like energy.

It had confused her. Not created? Then how did they exist? That's what everyone said, right? That connections were _created?_ How could the _Spectrum_ be wrong? Annabeth Chase had a dilemma.

And so, she had found herself opening the door to the Jacksons' apartment in the middle of January. Sally had been making hot chocolate for herself – Percy was at Grover's (the boy with the weird gait and bleating laugh; Percy was his best friend) and she needed to warm herself up, she'd said.

Annabeth had accepted a delicious cup of the warm liquid from the older woman, clutching it tightly between frozen hands. Sally had sat beside her, smiling her wide, eyes-crinkling smile and asking, "How can I help you, Annabeth?"

Sally Jackson was a wonderful woman. She had survived Percy's father's untimely death, and her second husband's abuse, and got by successfully on her own, all while managing a hyper, annoying (okay, maybe he wasn't _annoying_ to his mother) boy, singlehandedly. Annabeth loved Sally for being the mother she had lacked for months – maybe even years – and for her famous blue cookies. But there was more. Sally was a _clear-sighted_.

She could see the thing most people coveted, most people craved to see – every single connection and aura which ever existed on this earth. And that made Sally wise. She always complained that it was too much work and strained her eyes to see all those colours, all those meaningful connections, but Annabeth thought that she secretly enjoyed playing the relationship guru of her circle of friends and family.

Annabeth had informed Sally of her new discovery, pointing out the offending paragraph from her _Spectrum_ and had asked, "How's that possible?"

To which, Sally's simple answer had been, "It's fate."

"What?"

"Auras and connections, and everything else mentioned in that books revolves around one thing – _fate_. The Ancient Greeks saw it – they depicted it as a cloth woven by the three Fates. In all actuality, it is these connections, these _threads_ – energy of sorts, which they saw. It is fate, Annabeth. And fate carves its own way. It is unavoidable, you can't get rid of it – the only thing you can do is watch as it changes, as time passes, year after year, maybe even day after day. It is like a scar, Annabeth, a beautiful, raw scar on the face of your life. It may be for the better or it may be for the worse – all you have to do is _decide_."

Annabeth had never felt so inspired by another person's words. They way Sally had said it – so earnestly, so believably, it had made her want to know more and more about these strange lights and colours which seemed to have enveloped her mind, body and soul.

About a few hours later, after extensive questions on Annabeth's part, and infinite patience on Sally's, she had shooed Annabeth out of the Jacksons' residence, exclaiming about the lateness of the hour and how _she hadn't even begun to cook!_

Annabeth had gone out grinning. She had never met a person like Sally – so put together, yet so frantic and haphazard in her thoughts; so wise and calm, and still a happy, fun-loving woman.

Like her son.

Who was currently crouched beside her in a darkened classroom, staring at her with eerily glowing green eyes.

She felt kind of drunk.

"W-what? Why are we here?" She asked him, eyes averted from his stubborn gaze, because _Oh God,_ he could really make a person uncomfortable with those expressive eyes.

"I am currently avoiding Leo Valdez because I might have broken his most prized invention yet and he has murderous tendencies when someone does that. Also, you happened to be on the way to my hiding spot so I dragged you along. Cheer up, Princess," he grinned at her, white teeth a stark contrast to the darkness surrounding him.

"I am _not_ a Princess. That is so much worse than _Wise Girl_."

"So you like me calling you Wise Girl."

"I never said that."

"Sure… _Wise Girl_."

Annabeth groaned. She hated him. She hated him and all the ridiculous antics he got up to.

She hated that small smile on her face which betrayed her.

"Percy, if you didn't realize this, it is Graduation Day. And I am valedictorian. Which means I can't be late. Which means I have to _go_ ," she huffed, glaring at the Seaweed Brain across her. She would venture outside herself. She would, if she wasn't afraid of tripping and falling over at least a hundred desks and chairs in the process.

"You're valedictorian?"

Is that the only thing he registered from her tirade?

" _Yes._ "

"That's great, Wise Girl! Congratulations," he squeezed her hand, interweaving his own fingers with hers. Annabeth resisted the urge to pull her hand away from his touch. She certainly did _not_ like the butterflies which erupted in her stomach.

 _Nope_. Not at all.

"Thanks. You're so sweet," she said with gritted teeth. _Two minutes before the ceremony begins._ "Now can you please _let go_ of my hand because I really need to be at the ceremony?" She tugged at her trapped hand, but it was like Chinese handcuffs – his vice-like grip only got tighter.

" _Perseus Jackson_ ," she whisper-screamed. He grinned again. She felt like slapping him.

"Aww, come on, Wise Girl, what's the rush?" He was too much. She hated him. She really, _really_ hated him.

"Percy, I have to be there. You know what? If you let me go now, I'll bake blue cookies for you. With blue choco-chips. And blue icing." She felt like she was striking a deal with the devil. A child devil.

His face slipped into a mask of deep thinking. Annabeth tapped her foot impatiently. _I don't have time for this._

Suddenly, her hand was freed. Percy stood up in a flurry of over-sized graduation robes and sighed.

"Well, you strike a hard bargain, Annabeth Chase." He took her hand again and tugged her into a wild run amongst the maze of desks and chairs. She laughed, her chuckles mingling with the joyful laugh of the raven-haired boy in front of her. Suddenly, she didn't care about her valedictorian speech, or her graduation, or anything else at all.

She could live with this.

* * *

Turned out, baking cookies wasn't _all_ that easy.

Who was she kidding? It was so. Freaking. Hard.

Annabeth stood in front of the oven, another burnt batch of blue mess in front of her. Tendrils of hair stuck to her hair with sweat and tears of frustration. A recipe book stood placidly in front of her, displaying delicious specimens of choco-chip cookies which _she just couldn't get right_. She barely restrained her fingers from ripping the pages out of her grandma's old book.

She heard a stifled laugh from the kitchen and she whirled around to see Percy Jackson barely controlling his mirth.

He could be a horrible human being, sometimes.

"Don't you _dare_ laugh at me, Seaweed Brain," she warned him through tightly clenched teeth. She couldn't handle this. She would never bake cookies again. Not in a lifetime. Not if someone's life depended on it. "It's not like _you_ know how to do it," she spat out, balefully eyeing her disastrous biscuits.

"Oh, really?" Percy raised his eyebrows, giving his expression an almost-comical effect and a scrunch-y nose.

It looked cute. A little.

"Please," she rolled her eyes, picking at the stray pieces of dough lodged in her hair and clothes. "You're the kind of person who gobbles up ever tasty morsel of food, without as much as a _thank you._ You are certainly _not_ the person who prepares it." She rolled her eyes. Seaweed Brain and baking? _Pfft._ Impossible.

"Game on, Chase," he cracked his knuckles. He scooped her long-forgotten apron off the floor and pushed past her to the remnants of the cookie dough. "I'm gonna show you just how good I am at _everything_."

Annabeth hid her smirk before he could see.

But she was certainly _not_ smirking when, and hour later, he presented a perfect plate of blue-icing, blue-choco-chip blue cookies to her.

No, it was more like she was gaping with unabashed awe at the ambrosia in his hands.

"Wha-? How-? _What?"_ Annabeth was truly, _actually_ speechless.

Her respect for him soared at least ten points up the scale.

"Mom taught me." His triumphant smile made her want to smack him upside the head, but she was still buried in utter shock to actually react.

Percy smirked at her. "Well, go on then, give it a taste." He held the tantalizing cookie beneath her nose, almost stuffing it into her open mouth. The sweet, bake-y, buttery smell wafted up to her nose and she almost gasped and moaned at the delicious aroma.

It was truly the ambrosia of the Gods. Annabeth didn't think that she'd ever tasted anything so good in her entire lifetime. Well, except for Sally's cookies itself.

Annabeth was impressed.

But she didn't show it.

She didn't like that smug smirk on his face.

* * *

"Do you know about auras and connections?"

They were sitting on the roof of their building, a Tupperware container full of Percy's Magic Blue Cookies between them. Annabeth was ashamed to say that she'd eaten half of it.

His question took her by surprise.

"Yes. Why?" She stared at him, his orange t-shirt covered with bright blue crumbs and his green eyes a stark contrast to the glow of the setting sun.

 _He would grow up to be a cute guy,_ Annabeth thought.

"It's just… we've never talked about this kind of stuff, you know? All we do is annoy each other, shout at each other and bring my mother to her wits' end. We've never really thought about serious stuff like this… I think. And as your best friend, I think that's really important," Percy stated, a tad blunt – but that was him – a bit blunt, a lot sarcastic and equally sweet.

"Well… yeah, I mean I didn't think I was ready to talk about it to. I mean, I discovered all of that just before I came here, to New York. I hadn't really comprehended the enormity of the concept." Her forehead crinkled. "Best friends?"

He gave her his usual grin and said, "Sure, Wise Girl. You'd be lost without me and you know it."

"That's not true and you know it."

"Say whatever you want to, Princess. You _know_ you want to be my best friend."

"I don't."

"You do."

"I really, really don't want that."

Percy just sighed in response and said, "Well… I guess you'll start telling the truth _one_ day. Anyway, connections?" His eyes bore into hers, and she had to resist averting her eyes under his intense scrutiny.

"Well… I started seeing them right after my mom left. You know that," Annabeth told him – the last part more a question than a statement. She had no desire of reliving that horrible night were everything came tumbling down like a house of cards. Percy nodded his head to indicate that he did remember. She'd told him in clipped words that her Mom had left her Dad a few weeks before their move to New York.

"I saw my Dad glowing red, as we sat on the floor, crying together," Annabeth closed her eyes. "I didn't know what it was, until my Dad began to explain all about connections and auras and what not. It took both our minds off our situation – at least for a while. Later, I realized that my Mom's connection to my Dad must be changing, and I could see it for a moment, before it started to fade as she got farther." Seeing Percy's confused look, she added, "I can see all dissimilar connections. My Dad still loved her so his connection was red – while hers must have turned grey – out of hate. If only…" Annabeth swallowed thickly, forcing the words out, "If only I could've known before… maybe Dad – and I wouldn't be as messed up as we are now. He doesn't want to show it; hell, even _I_ don't want to show it, but it's there – the pain, the anger, the desperation, and I feel like it will eat our hearts and souls away." Percy looked stricken and sad, so she offered him a melancholic grin, "But I guess we can't really change fate, can we?"

Annabeth fell silent after that, distant voices the only sounds around them. Maybe a few minutes ha passed, or a few hours, before Percy began to speak again. "My stepfather was abusive," he stated, in a monotone voice, so uncharacteristic of the cheerful Seaweed Brain he was – as if he's stating a fact. A _fact._ Annabeth shuddered.

"H-he seemed so good and genuine and _nice_ when we first met him – my Mom met him in his stupid home appliances showroom, which sold some cheap shit which didn't even last a week – those were the only things we could afford back then. He talked to Mom, gave me a chocolate and took us out to dinner the next day. Mom liked him. I liked him. And I found myself standing next to my beautifully dressed Mom in the church a few weeks later, hearing them say _I do._ I was happy because my Mom was happy – she deserved it." Percy took a deep breath, staring up at the darkening sky. Annabeth could only watch as he tried to pull himself together, tried to become the happy boy she'd always known.

She hated him for it.

She wanted to scream at him to stop pretending, to let it all _go_. To let the pain go.

She couldn't. She couldn't be a hypocrite.

"If there was one thing Gabe was good at – it was lying. He lied to Mom. He lied to me. He lied to everyone who knew him. Because the moment he crossed the threshold to our new apartment was the moment I saw his true colours. He was a monster, Annabeth. Screaming at us, ordering us about. Scaring the shit out of my seven-year-old puny self. And when I found the courage to start yelling back… that's when the kicks and punches began."

Annabeth did not want to hear any more of this.

"I took most of it. All of it, really, to save my Mom. She didn't deserve it. She never did. She deserved a man who would treat her right, give her all she wanted. Give her love. Not abuse and hate. Not _Gabe._ So I bore it. For three years, I put up with his shit, taking every kick, punch and blow he aimed at me. And then… one day, I saw him hit my mom. She was asking him – more like begging him to let the both of us visit Montauk for my birthday. Such a simple thing. And he freaked out. He called her a bitch and a whore and hit her right across the cheek with a fucking _beer bottle_. I lost it. I charged right into him, with all the power I could muster and heard him hit his head against the dining table. By the time the meds got there, he was half-dead. He died a few days later. I gave witness to his case in court, but I was acquitted on the basis of self-defence and the fact that a larger cause of his death was alcohol and drugs. My push was simply a trigger for the inevitable." Percy shrugged.

"I-I don't know what to say." Annabeth swiped the stray tear away.

"So don't say anything. Say something else. I'd rather not open that can of worms again," Percy's eyes looked like cracked glass. She _hated_ Gabe, whoever he was with a passion she had never felt. For what he had done to Sally and Percy. For being the dark spot in the lives of two of the best people she'd ever known.

"You never told me what your gift was."

"My gift?"

Annabeth faked an exasperated huff. "Your _gift,_ Seaweed Brain. The one that enables you to see auras and connections?" She rolled her eyes.

His grin was half-hearted but that was enough for Annabeth. "Oh yeah. Umm… I see the most intense similar connections – the strongest auras. Bonds that will last forever. Their colours are so intense that I get distracted all the time."

"Like you and Sally?" She questioned. She'd be damned if they didn't have such a connection.

"Oh yeah," he nodded. "And…" There it was, his beautiful eyes staring at her again. "You and me, too."

"What?" She asked, half-shocked, half-relieved at the discovery. At least _one_ of them could see their connection now.

"I didn't call you my best friend for fun, you know." His dimples flash as he smiles. "Our connection is one of the strongest I've ever seen. Yellow, like the sun. Happy yellow. It always makes me smile when I see it." His fingers traced an invisible path between them – their connection, Annabeth assumed.

She liked it.

 _Best friends._

"I don't mind," she said. And Percy smiled.

They didn't talk much after that, sitting in a comfortable silence, pointing out constellations as the stars began to shine.

And when Annabeth got up to go, she spoke, "Percy?"

"Hmm?"

"Would you make more of those divine cookies if I bought you a friendship charm bracelet?"

His _Sure, Wise Girl_ was lost beneath helpless chuckles.

* * *

 **yay! i finally got the re-edited version of _colour of my blood_ (previously, it was called _colour of my blood_ ). this is only the first arc out of four. each represents an aspect of the whole 'connections and soulbonds' thing i have going here. _amethyst blue,_ this arc, represents family. the next will probably be friendship. i hope you liked it! **


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